


Here Comes Another Fall from Grace (I'm Always Falling On My Face)

by turnonmyheels



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:56:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnonmyheels/pseuds/turnonmyheels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Ghost World -- All the ghosts are gone, or are they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Moosesal for the beta. Title from Placebo's Breathe Underwater

_These days when I see you  
You make it look like I’m see-through  
Do tell me why you waste our time  
When your heart ain’t admitting you’re not satisfied  
You know I know just how you feel  
I’m starting to find myself feeling that way too_  
Cold Shoulder, Adele

One second Damon was looking at him, snarking back and forth, meeting his eyes and giving back as good as he was getting. The next Damon was turning in circles shouting Mason’s name.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Mason watched as Damon punched the invisible barrier keeping him out of the cave. “Where did you go? Lassie, come back!”

Mason called out, “I’m right here.” He bent over to pick up the lantern in order to wave it so Damon could see him, but try as he might he couldn’t lift it. His hand kept passing through it. “Oh come on, not again!” Mason shook his hands out and clenched his fists repeatedly. He took a deep breath, held it in, and stood completely still for a moment. He gathered all of his energy and focus -- _what? It worked in_ Ghost -- and tried again. The light in the lantern twinkled at him when his hand passed through it. “Fuck,” Mason growled out. “Not this again.”

“Damon!” Mason shouted as he jogged back to where Damon was throwing an impressive tantrum; stomping around and cursing Mason, the Lockwoods, the Founders, and Mystic Falls’ existence. “Damon! I’m right here.”

“The dick leads me through miles of cavern tunnels, finally finds what we’re looking for, and then he Nearly Headless Nicks it out of here.” Damon kicked futilely at the barrier several more times before giving up. He spun around and leaned back against the cavern wall staring at the opening he couldn’t pass through.

Mason grabbed Damon’s shoulders and tried to shake him but Damon was as unmovable as a marble statue. “I haven’t gone anywhere, I’m right here!”

“Why did the bastard disappear before he can tell me what it is? Damn it!” Damon punctuated each word by banging the back of his head against the stone wall. “I knew he was fucking with me.”

“I’m not fucking with you, Damon, I’m right here. They’re … drawings. They look ancient.” Mason could feel the silky-smooth cotton of Damon’s shirt as it wrinkled under his slightly damp hands. They clenched tightly enough that he could feel the weave of the fabric against his skin but there was no visible sign of his touch. “Why is this happening? I thought I was going to get a chance to settle up and make everything right.”

“Gotta get some help.” Damon pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

“You can’t get a signal down here, dumbass.”

“Figure out where exactly we are and why I can’t get in.” Damon frowned at his useless phone and returned it to his pocket. “And how to find the way back outside.” Mason watched helplessly as Damon patted down his pockets before bending over and retrieving a knife from inside his boot. Using the wicked looking Bowie, he marked an “x” at the door that led to the drawings and arrows at every turn he took on the way back out of the cavern. “I have an invite to the Lockwood house, so we can’t be under it.” Damon muttered.

“The house is like, five miles off to the east you dumbass.” Mason retorted. “There’s not a house anywhere near here. Why the hell am I trying to talk to you when you can’t hear me?” Mason resisted the urge to roll his eyes when Damon took yet another wrong turn. “Haven’t you got any sense of direction at all?” Mason cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled as loudly as he could. “Head west.” Damon abruptly turned left at the next opportunity. “Your other west, Jesus. I’ll just go back to the cave and try to figure out what those drawings mean, you go get some help and get your ass back here as quickly as you can.”

Mason watched as Damon made yet another wrong turn, doubled back, corrected his arrow on the cave wall, and took the other tunnel. His gut was telling him he’d made the right choice going to Damon for help, but his common sense was screaming out for someone smarter and stronger. Someone like Katherine, but she wasn’t exactly hanging around the town when he corporealized. Damon and whomever he brought back would have to do.

  
**~*~**   


“They’re drawings,” Tyler’s history teacher and the man who helped Damon plan his murder/torture -- Alaric -- said as he held up Mason’s lantern.

“What kind of drawings?” Damon was pressed against the barrier, craning his head sharply, trying his best to see for himself. “Can’t you invite me in?”

“Come in,” Alaric said, his focus intent on the drawings. “Come in, come in, come in, come in. See? It doesn’t work. How many more times do I need to try?” Alaric dug through his backpack and pulled out a retractable stand. He expanded it and hung both lanterns off the arms, adjusting them so he could get the most light possible on the drawings.

“What are you doing?” Damon asked.

“He’s obviously setting up to take pictures,” Mason responded from behind Alaric. “It’s the only way you’re going to see them.”

“I’m going to photograph the drawings,” Alaric said as he pulled a camera out of his backpack. “I need to do some research and it’s not like I brought my sketch pad or reference material with me. I thought we were going to retrieve a weapon, not stumble onto another mystery.”

“The real mystery is why I can’t get in,” Damon muttered under his breath. Alarm spread across his face and Damon’s eyes widened dramatically. “Shit, Ric, can you get out? What if it’s a trap?”

Alaric crossed the barrier and smirked at Damon. “I can get out. Now shut up so I can get this done. The quicker we’re finished here, the quicker we can start researching.”

“Yes, please. Both of you shut up; you’re annoying as hell. In fact, I don’t know what’s worse: being completely invisible and alone _again_ , or the two you and your pseudo-banter-slash-bromance-slash-unresolved-sexual-tension. Could you either shut up or fuck each other stupid already?”

“Shut up, Damon. I need to concentrate. Even with the flash and lanterns these are difficult shots.” Alaric climbed on top of a nearby boulder to get even with the drawings and started snapping pictures. The camera flashed repeatedly and both men were silent. Mason breathed in a sigh of relief.

“There’s something in that top corner but I can’t make it out, there’s not enough light.” Mason pointed to the darkest corner high on the right side.

“There are some I can’t get, not in this light. We’re going to have to come back.” Alaric started packing up his gear. “I’ll bring Bonnie when I do, see if she can’t break down this barrier or at least tell us what it is if she can’t.”

“Great.” Damon rolled his eyes and took Alaric’s backpack from him, when he came out of the cave. “Another trip down the wolf hole.”

“I wish Bonnie’s spell hadn’t sent all the ghosts away. I’d like to talk to Mason. See how he knew about this.”

“Journals.” Mason couldn’t help but answer even though they couldn’t hear him. “They go back to the founding of the town. All my ancestors through prohibition kept them.”

Damon didn’t deign to respond. They made their way out of the cave and stepped into the breaking dawn. “I’ll email you the photos from school, so you can get started on them. I’ll do what I can today and pull in some reference material from Duke if we need it. Maybe call Isobel’s old assistant.”

Damon grabbed Alaric’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “Don’t call in anyone yet, not if you can help it. This could be anything from Native American to slave drawings.” He released Alaric’s arm and opened the door to his car. Alaric put his gear in the backseat and Mason took the opportunity to slide into the back of the car. “And you never know who’s working for Klaus.”

Alaric nodded and sat down in the passenger seat, slamming the car door shut behind him. “Fine. Can you drop me off at school?”

They rode in silence back into town passing a flask between them. Mason stared longingly at the bourbon and wished with all his might to get back into the game and help save Tyler.


	2. 2

_Days before you came  
it always seemed enticing   
to be naked and profane.  
There is no denying  
days before you came  
thunderbolts and lightning  
each day a brand new vein.  
Each tourniquet colliding  
didn’t want you anyway._  
Placebo, Days Before You Came

 

“Have a _grrrr-eat_ day at school!” Damon ushered Rebekah out of the boarding house with his best Tony the Tiger impersonation. “Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out.” Damon slammed the door shut behind her and banged his forehead against it briefly. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply seemingly relieved to be home after spending the night wandering around almost entirely lost in an underground cavern.

“I’m not sure killing Klaus is going to get your brother back.” Mason said from behind Damon as he watched the exchange over his shoulder. “Not as long as that’s the kind of company he keeps.”

Damon looked up and waved at her then gave her his most insincerely sincere smile. Rebekah smirked at him over her shoulder before she climbed into Stefan’s Porsche and drove off.

“I need a drink.” Damon sighed before heading to the basement for a blood bag.

“Boo-hoo, poor Damon needs a drink.” Mason quipped as he followed Damon through the house. “I need a body. And a drink. I wouldn’t turn down a blowjob either. Hell, why stop with a blowjob?” Mason said as he eyed Damon’s admittedly stunning rear. All of the vampires he’d met were incredibly hot, almost as if it were a prerequisite for getting vamped. Or maybe Katherine just knew all the hottest vampires. Regardless, Mason had spent many, many nights buried balls deep inside of Katherine and/or whomever Katherine had wanted to join them: male, female, vampire, werewolf, or just plain dinner. On the very best nights, Katherine would pick out a man -- usually dark-haired and light-eyed -- then she would put Mason in the middle, fucking him while he got fucked.

He missed that. Almost as much as he missed being alive. “You know Damon, a good hard fuck would be amazing.” Damon -- of course -- didn’t respond. Mason chuckled at himself and shook his head. “If only Katherine could see me now, practically throwing myself at her favorite cast-off. She told me you were completely oblivious to people who wanted you. That you _always_ threw yourself after the ones who didn’t want you. She wasn’t wrong. You’re always making cow eyes at Elena. It’s completely ridiculous, why would you want Katherine version 2.0 instead of Alaric? He’s completely into you in that whole ‘reluctant yet irresistible attraction’ kind of way.”

Mason looked around the house as they passed through it, resolutely unimpressed by the antiques. He’d grown up in the oldest mansion in Mystic Falls, after all; it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. He did have to admit the boarding house was surprisingly warm and comfortable despite being a vampire lair. It didn’t have that air of “Do Not Touch” the mansion always had. Mason found himself stopping to admire the gleaming mahogany paneling in the hallways. He reached out to see if it was as smooth as it appeared and his hand passed through it. Pissed off at himself, he jerked his hand back as if burnt then immediately turned around and stayed right on Damon’s heels all the way to the basement.

“Well, well, well,” Damon said as he stopped abruptly in front of a barred door. “What do we have here?”

“What the hell?” Mason stepped right behind Damon, close enough that if he’d had a body his dick would be pressed against Damon’s ass, and looked over his shoulder. It was a cell and Stefan was inside it chained to a chair.

“You doing alright in there, brother?” Stefan’s head came up at the word brother. Mason’s self-preservation instinct kicked in, he couldn’t help but take a step back when he saw the expression of absolute loathing on Stefan’s face. “Your girlfriend lock you up again?” Damon wrapped his hands around the bars on the door. “Who helped her this time? McWitchy the Judgey? Vampire Barbie? Your other girlfriend, Barbie Klaus?”

Stefan’s features morphed and he hissed around his fangs. “Let me out of here, Damon.” He jerked and the chains rattled but he was bound too tightly to do more than wiggle around a bit.

“Not a chance, bro. Time out is just what the doctor ordered. You sit there and think about what you did wrong while I go get a nice bag of blood and enjoy my freedom.” Damon winked at Stefan and waved. “Toodles.”

“Dude. You have one seriously messed up relationship with your brother.” Mason stayed at the door to keep an eye on Stefan. He obviously wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, but that didn’t mean he didn’t bear watching. “There’s no way I’d leave my brother tied up like that no matter what he did.”

“You know, Stefan,” Damon said as he strolled back to the cell door with a glass filled to the brim with human blood. “If you’d just learn to control yourself the _slightest_ bit, you wouldn’t be in there.” Damon sipped the blood and moaned as he swallowed. “Yummy, nothing like a little soccer parent to go. I’d offer you someone but I’d hate to undo all your hard work.”

“Klaus will get me out of here, Damon. And when he does I’m going to massacre this entire town.”

Damon drained nearly all of his blood, leaving only a swallow or two in the glass. “Over my dead body.” He dipped his finger into the glass, swirled it through the blood, and flicked it through the bars at Stefan. The blood hit him on the forehead and slowly started to drip toward his nose. “Enjoy your breakfast, Stefan. If you’re lucky it may drip all the way down to your mouth. It’ll probably just dry up somewhere on your nose though.” Damon drained the rest of his glass. “If it does, it’ll start to itch and you won’t be able to scratch it. But you’ll be able to smell it.” Damon kissed the palm of his hand and blew it to Stefan. “Enjoy!”

“That was some fucked-up shit, man.”

By the string of expletives and rattling chains coming from the cell, Stefan wholeheartedly agreed.

Damon wound his way through the house with Mason dogging his every step. They eventually passed by the study. Mason paused at the door, attention captured by the chair he’d been tied to and tortured on. It was exactly where it was the day he’d died, sitting in a patch of sunlight from the window, turned at an angle so that it faced the fireplace. From the doorway it appeared completely unmarked, not a drop of blood anywhere on it. Morbid fascination led him into the room to inspect the site of his death. There were no stray strands of rope to indicate that he’d once been tied to it before his heart was ripped from his chest. He got down onto his knees and inspected the antique rug, looking for any proof at all of what had transpired in that place, before remembering Damon had put a tarp on the floor to catch any unfortunate splatters.

Mason sat back on his haunches and watched as Damon came into the room and headed straight for the bar, upending a crystal decanter filled with something golden brown into a glass. “What I really want to know is how you got all the blood off of the chair.”

Damon had the tumbler halfway to his mouth when he startled Mason by answering. “Trust me, I’ve been getting stains out of the carpets and furniture since 1864, it’s an acquired skill.”

Mason leaped to his feet. “Did you just hear me?”

At the same time Damon’s startled gaze met his, “Where did you come from?”

“I didn’t go anywhere.” Mason said as he walked toward the bar. “I’ve been with you every single step since the cave. One minute I was corporeal and the next minute ...” Mason trailed off and looked at the bourbon-filled glass Damon was holding out to him. He wanted that drink almost as much as he wanted a body with which to drink it.

“What are you waiting for? Take it.” Damon raised an eyebrow at him. “Go on, don’t be a pussy.”

Mason reached for the glass, it was cool to the touch. The hefty crystal was solid in his hand. He raised the tumbler to his lips and groaned when the bourbon touched his tongue. He held the liquid in his mouth a moment, savoring its heat and intensity. As he swallowed, he smiled at the path it burned through his body. “Thanks,” Mason said as he held the glass out to Damon for a refill. Their fingers brushed and Mason didn’t even try to stop himself from making the contact linger, digging his nails lightly into Damon’s skin, scratching gently as Damon poured. “I needed that.” He stepped close enough to Damon to feel the heat from his body. Then he stepped closer still, pressing himself against Damon’s side. Damon quirked an eyebrow at him but didn’t move away.

“It looks like that’s not the only thing you need,” Damon said as he poured another couple fingers of bourbon into the glass. “I thought the ghosts were gone.”

“They are.”

Three things happened simultaneously: Bonnie entered the room, Mason disappeared, and the crystal tumbler filled with bourbon started to fall to the floor. Damon’s reflexes saved the glass, he caught it well before it hit the floor. A few drops of the amber liquid splashed out of the glass and onto his hand. He brought his hand to his mouth and absent-mindedly licked the drops.

“Fascinating.” Damon toasted the empty space around him and smirked in the general direction Mason had been standing.

“Damon? Can you see me?” Mason grabbed at Damon’s arm, but his hand passed through it. “Come on!” Mason shouted and this time reached for Damon’s cock, he could see it had stiffened up from their brief contact but once again, Mason was completely disembodied. “Can you hear me?”

“Is Stefan still in the cell?” Bonnie asked from the door.

“Of course. _Someone_ went to such trouble to put him there, I wasn’t about to let him out.”

Bonnie made a noncommittal sound and turned to leave.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” Damon asked even though his attention was focused on the spot Mason should have been standing in. He squinted his eyes, tilted his head first one way then the other. He reached out into the empty space around him seemingly trying to see if there were any temperature variances.

“Your hand is on my hip, but it keeps passing through me.” It was torture. He was being punished for all the admittedly terrible things he’d done while he was alive. “Can you tell I’m here at all?”

“I have history first period. Alaric said I should check Stefan’s cell, make sure it’ll hold.”

“Mmm.” Damon sipped his drink and tried listening _very_ hard, but he couldn’t hear any Mason-like sounds. “It’s held before, I’m sure it will hold again.”

“You don’t sound too concerned,” Bonnie said sharply.

The bite in the words captured Damon’s attention enough for him to look at her. “Bonnie, Stefan has been on and off the wagon since the day he became a vampire. He doesn’t have some sort of Blood Addicts Anonymous problem that can be solved with a little bit of cold turkey and some rehab.”

“Then what _is_ his problem?”

If she’d been sarcastic he would have been flippant but she wasn’t so he gave her his full attention and the truth. “It’s two-fold.” He set down his glass and crossed the room to stand in front of her. “He has no impulse control. He’s never had any impulse control. From the time he was born, if he wanted something he did whatever it took to get it and damn the consequences. As a vampire the hunger is what drives you. Most vampires eat until they’re full. Stefan eats until there isn’t anyone left to eat.”

Bonnie grimaced. “And the other part?”

“Klaus compelled him to turn off his emotions.” Damon shrugged. “Rose said after you lived long enough the switch just … stayed on. We haven’t lived that long yet. So until Klaus tells him to feel again or dies and the compulsion breaks, Stefan’s not going to change. And even then? He’s going to have to _want_ to change for it to happen.”

Bonnie sucked in a breath at Damon’s pronouncement. If she’d been Elena, Damon would have touched her in some small way to comfort her. But she wasn’t -- and truthfully -- he had no comfort to give. Stefan was his brother and anything regarding their relationship belonged to the two of them, not Bonnie. What he did have was a vanishing werewolf ghost, which was infinitely more interesting than his brother and his eating disorder-slash-dispossessed emotions.

“So, it’s kill Klaus or lose Stefan forever?”

“That’s pretty harsh man, he’s your brother.” Mason stood between Bonnie and Damon. He’d been trying to get their attention since Damon stopped trying to see him. “I thought you two stuck together no matter what.”

“Pretty much.” Damon shrugged. “There’s no guarantee the compulsion will break if Klaus dies. And that ‘if”? Is a pretty big if.”

“I’m on it.” Bonnie snapped back at Damon. “I’m supposed to pick up my grimoire for Alaric to help him find some symbols and translate something. After I check to make sure Stefan can’t get out.”

“You do that.” Damon smiled at Bonnie as she glared at him before turning on her heel and striding purposefully out the door.

“I don’t get this at all, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Jesus, warn a guy first!” Damon startled as Mason reappeared in front of him. Mason reached out and grabbed hold of Damon’s arm. Damon put his own hand on top of Mason’s and squeezed it hard enough to make Mason wince. “What do you think about a game of scientist?”

“Does it involve a prostate exam?” Mason deadpanned, but there was a light in his eye that Damon recognized.

“Not until we figure out the parameters of your corporealization.” Mason’s gaze locked onto Damon’s. “After that? We can role play all you want.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Alcoholic kind of mood  
Lose my clothes, lose my mood  
Cruising for a piece of fun,  
Looking out for number one.  
Different partner every night,   
So narcotic outta sight,  
What a gas, what a beautiful ass_  
Nancy Boy, Placebo

 

The game of scientist was botched from the start. The general parameter of Mason’s corporeality was simple to determine -- every time they tried leaving the study he would disappear. The fine-tuning was a bit more difficult to determine. And Damon? Could have gone his entire life without experiencing the result of that particular experiment.

It started off quite predictably -- Mason, having a body, wanted to use it. Damon, also possessing a body and having recently lost his girlfriend/blood bag/fuck buddy to murder-by-brother, was also amenable to using said body for something besides Elena’s sparring partner.

(To be perfectly honest, which Damon _always_ was, the less said about Elena and her sudden urge to be Buffy the Vampire Slayer the better. Learning to defend herself against muggers and rapists was smart, sensible, and something both Alaric and Damon could totally work with. Her sudden desire to be able to kill a vampire without any help -- or more importantly a twelve-step plan and shit ton of luck -- was beyond her physically and clearly a result of Stefan being a complete ass.)

One epically long eye-fuck from Mason was reciprocated with elevator eyes from Damon. Mason circled Damon making sure to admire the view from all sides and upped the ante by asking to borrow a change of clothes from Damon. Damon, circling the other way, upped the ante even _more_ by claiming his svelte, super-model figure was not at all suited to Mason’s wolfish frame.

Mason -- appalled and offended, but mostly just horny as only the recently dead, then corporealized, then dead, the corporealized again, can be -- demanded that Damon prove it by stripping immediately and switching clothes with him. Mason was halfway out of his clothes before he finished issuing his challenge, but Damon took his time.

Damon maintained eye contact with Mason while he started with the buttons on his ubiquitous black button-down. He undid them slowly, letting his fingertips skim down his skin as it was exposed button by button. He left his shirt on and tilted his head back while he trailed his palm from his heart all the way down to his black (there wasn’t another color) John Varvatos slacks.

“Quit being such a cock-tease,” Mason said as he clenched his hands together to keep from reaching out and ripping off Damon’s pants.

“Who’s teasing?” Damon asked, unbuckling his belt. He toyed with the button on his slacks and looked up at Mason as he batted his eyelashes. “I’m building the anticipation. Besides, you’re the one who’s always talking and never actually doing.”

“Yeah?”

Damon flicked his wrist and the button slid free. “Um-hm.” He looked Mason over, top to bottom then bottom to top, as he slid his zipper down tooth by tooth.

“You are completely ridiculous. You know this, right?”

Damon smirked and held his arms out wide in an obvious invitation.

Mason -- like all Lockwoods -- was unable to resist a challenge, a dare, or a partially naked body. He closed the distance between himself and Damon in three brisk steps. Heat rolled off of Damon and the fire behind him. Mason wasn’t sure when it had been lit, and to be honest he wouldn’t be surprised to find out that it had spontaneously burst into flames due to the building sexual tension in the room. Mason promised himself that the tension would be resolved immediately.

He reached out and pushed one side of Damon’s shirt off so that it revealed his shoulder and collarbone. “Take yourself out.” He watched nearly mesmerized as Damon’s pectoral muscles rippled while he pushed his underwear and pants down barely far enough for his rapidly hardening cock to spring free of its confines.

Mason knelt before Damon, placing both hands on his hips, and tilted his head up just enough to brush his face against Damon’s erection. He closed his eyes and breathed in Damon’s scent: the top note was like an exotic spice that he couldn’t place, underscored by a hint of leather and earth, with a bottom note redolent of copper. The scent was heady and other than the hint of leather reminded him of Katherine so strongly he almost expected her to walk in the study and join them.

Mason’s brain whited out for just a second as he imagined what it would be like to be the filling in a Katherine and Damon sandwich. He came back to the present with a tight grip on the base of his own cock and a shake of his head. He parted his lips and licked them before running the tip of his tongue across the head of Damon’s cock.

“Foreskin?” Mason was surprised; he’d never had first-hand acquaintance with an uncut penis.

Damon shrugged. “Circumcision didn’t become common practice in this country until after 1870.”

“Who would have thought a blowjob would be accompanied by a history lesson?”

Damon smirked at him and pushed his hips forward just enough to press his erection against Mason’s lips. “Clearly, you’ve never gotten Ric drunk and seduced him. The only time he ever stops talking is when his mouth is full. It’s all ‘the evolution of hunting rituals and ancient warrior traditions evolved into modern day homosexual sublimation’ all the time. Boring.”

Damon’s hips pressed forward again and this time Mason opened his mouth, letting Damon slide his length along the tip of Mason’s tongue before pulling back, getting it nice and wet. Mason wrapped his lips along the shaft and started to gently suck. Mason allowed Damon to do all the work rocking gently in and out. He did his part using lips and tongue enough to make Damon’s rhythm falter when Mason moved _just_ right.

It was nice, great even, but Mason wanted more. He’d been dead for an undetermined amount of time and he needed hot, hard, and dirty; not soft and slow. The next time Damon slid out, Mason tilted his head back and opened his throat. His hands tightened enough on Damon’s hips to bruise --albeit briefly-- then he yanked Damon’s hips forward and swallowed him all the way down to the base. Neatly trimmed hairs tickled his upper lip for a second before Mason pushed him back.

Then he looked up at Damon and winked. Damon smirked back and pushed all the way in and rolled his hips in a slow circle. Mason slapped him on the ass and let go of Damon’s hips, allowing Damon to set his own pace and fuck his face.

Being dead, he didn’t have to worry about breathing. Damon didn’t realize that -- or he was more conscientious than Mason would have ever predicted -- and would give him just enough time to catch a breath every so often before slamming home harder than before. His mouth was stretched open wide, drooling more than a little. Damon’s hands came down to rest on his face. He pressed his thumb where Mason’s mouth was stretched wide, smearing the spit across Mason’s cheek.

Mason was so hard it hurt. Every single time Damon fucked in Mason felt his cock twitch in response. He stroked himself with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Damon’s waist. He held onto Damon, pulling him hard against his face, not letting him pull back, and swallowed around the length of him over and over. Damon’s eyes closed, his head tilted back and Mason could feel him pulsing against his tongue nearly ready to come and then--

“Damon?” Elena’s voice called out. “What the hell?”

Damon opened his eyes to see Elena staring at him from across the room. He met her gaze but he was too far gone to stop now even though Mason had disappeared and taken all the stimulation with him. Damon came onto the carpet, in front of Elena, half-naked in his own study, looking for all the world like he had just jerked off in the middle of the room. He looked down at the carpet and sighed. “That’s going to be a bitch. Elena, hand me the club soda from the bar would you?”

“Damon, what...” Elena trailed off.

Damon refused to be embarrassed or show that he was at all affected by Elena witnessing whatever it was she had seen without seeing Mason. He tucked himself away, pulled his shirt back up but left it hanging open. He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and knelt down on the rug. “Seriously Elena, hand me the club soda.”

He looked up; Elena was gone and he was eye-to-eye with Mason.

“My turn?”

Damon’s eyes darkened and veins spread slowly beneath them. “Special requests?”

“Use your imagination.”

Damon moved quicker than Mason could follow. One second he was on his knees in front of the chair in which he’d died and the next he was sitting in said chair with a finger in his ass and his aching cock halfway down a vampire’s throat. Mason heartily approved of this. Damon swallowed him down, crooked a finger against his prostate and massaged. Mason let out a wordless shout. His hands clenched the arms of the chair, fingernails digging into the antique velvet. He threw his head back and circled his hips, pushing as deep into Damon as he could.

It was over in seconds. He came with a growl and Damon swallowed, finger easing off his prostate as he gently sucked Mason until he was completely soft. Damon sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief.

“Sorry, it wasn’t my best creative endeavor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mason replied, refusing to acknowledge Damon’s lame attempt to fish for a compliment. “I needed that.”

Damon nodded and stood up. “I need the club soda.” He found a bottle in the bar and immediately started cleaning come off the carpet.

“I need some clean clothes.”

Damon glanced up from blotting, never rubbing. “I told you, my clothes won’t fit you.”

“Damon, I’ve made some headway on these glyphs,” Alaric’s voice rang out.

Damon looked up at Mason ready to see him disappear when Alaric came into the room. Alaric entered and Mason was still there, naked in front of the fire. Damon looked between the two of them. “But I bet Ric’s would fit you fine.”

Ric looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’m not going to ask.”

“Look, honey!” Damon jumped to his feet and blurred across the room. He grabbed Alaric by the elbow and pulled him toward Mason. “The ghost of Lassie followed me home. Can we keep him?”

“I don’t understand,” Ric said as he turned slightly away from Mason. “I thought the ghosts were gone.”

Mason pulled on his jeans. “They are.” He grabbed his shirt off the floor and put it on too. “As far as we know I’m the only one that’s left.”

“It’s fascinating Ric, he’s only visible in this room. And until you walked in I was the only one who could see him.”

Ric raised his eyebrows and looked back and forth between Mason and Damon, a dubious expression on his face. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“I know!” Damon beamed clapping his hands together. “This calls for booze. Lots and lots of booze.” Damon headed for the bar. “And research!”

“I could really use a change of clothes. These have cavern crap all over them. Think you can loan me some clothes, buddy?”

Ric looked at Mason. Sure enough the clothes he was wearing were dusty and muddy and torn in a couple of places. He let out a sigh. “I’ve got a change of clothes in the trunk of my car.”

“Awesome!” Mason grinned. “Uh, you’ll have to go get them, I can’t step out of this room without becoming disembodied.”

“How is this my life?” Ric muttered under his breath as he went to get the ghost of a werewolf he had helped murder a change of clothes.


	4. Chapter 4

_My oh my, how my blood boils,  
Its sweet taste for you,  
Strips me down bare  
And gets me into my favourite mood.  
I keep on trying, fighting these feelings away,  
But the more I do,  
The crazier I turn into.  
Pacing floors and opening doors,  
Hoping you'll walk through  
And save me boy,  
Because I'm too crazy for you.  
Crazy for you _  
Adele, Crazy For You

Mason held up the clothes Ric brought him and inspected them. They looked like they would fit. “I really wish I could take a long, hot shower before I put on these nice, clean clothes.” He sounded wistful and more than a little sad.

“Wish in one hand--” Damon started with a smirk.

“Damon,” Ric interrupted before Damon attempted to pursue further flirtation by way of extraordinarily lame banter. “Why don’t you get him something for a sponge bath?”

“Kinky, Ric.” Damon shot Ric a look he refused to read then disappeared without further comment.

Ric nodded at Mason’s ghost and unloaded his research materials from his book bag. He spread the glyph photos across the desk then poured himself three fingers of Damon’s favorite bourbon and knocked half of it back in one swallow. He added some ice to the glass and promised himself from here on out he would take it easy. He settled down at the desk and sorted through the photos putting them in order. Damon returned shortly with a bowl, a pitcher filled with steaming water, and washcloths. The bowl and pitcher looked like something Damon had probably used himself when he was alive. Ric kept his focus on the glyphs and managed to refrain from asking.

He ignored Damon and Mason when Damon offered to give Mason a sponge bath. He sipped his drink instead of saying anything and tried turning one of the glyphs he hadn’t managed to work out upside down. It didn’t help. He turned the glyph upright and sighed. This was almost impossible. He pulled out his laptop and switched it on. It wasn’t like he could take a picture of the glyph and plug it into Google Goggles and ask for a translation, but the laptop was something extra he could focus on instead of what was going on across the room.

He continued ignoring them when Mason more or less begged Damon to wash his back. He knew they -- especially Damon -- were trying to get a reaction out of him. Ric had made a solemn promise to himself to never play games with Damon ever again. It appeared that vow needed some crucial editing. Ric sipped his drink, and swore on the dead bodies of the women he had loved that he would never play games with any sort of supernatural being ever again. He knew what would happen if he did. It was what always happened.

Whenever he slipped and fell into the drinking and the bantering and the body language and the verbal sparring with Damon (the less said about when Katherine was trapped in his house and he wasn’t staying with Jenna the better), Ric always woke up the next morning with a raging hangover, hand and finger-shaped bruises all over his body, and the feeling that he’d died (Again. He hadn’t had the eternity ring when Katherine was in his house -- he doesn’t like thinking about that time.) Considering the various fang imprints on major arteries and the strangulation marks around his throat he’d had to hide on each and every one of the aforementioned occasions, all evidence pointed to Ric not knowing his own boundaries and how to use a safe word as well as Damon not caring about his boundaries and safe word so long as he wore his eternity ring and would wake up alive in the morning.

Which is why Ric still hadn’t forgiven Damon for the last time he killed him (that Ric could remember). Neck snapping -- while infinitely quicker than exsanguination or strangulation/suffocation -- _hurt_ even after one was no longer dead.

“Ow!” Mason yelped.

Ric resolutely did not look up and witness Damon engaged in a game of snapping a wet washcloth on the bare ass of a werewolf ghost he had literally ripped the heart out of. He drained his bourbon and then refilled it. With absolutely zero shame he typed ‘viking hieroglyphics’ into Google, Bing, and Yahoo.

 _Snap, pop,_ “Ow! Give me that.” Ric hit search.

 _Pop, snap,_ “Oh, the wittle werewolf wants some payback.” Damon sounded gleeful. “Come and get it Derek.”

“Derek?”

“Yeah, Derek Hale, Teen Wolf Mtv?” Ric clicked on ‘Heiroglyphics - University of Houston’.

“You watch the shit-shows on Mtv?”

“Believe me Mason, if you were gonna be any werewolf ever, you’d be Derek Hale.”

“I’ll show you Derek Hale.” _Pop, snap. Growl. Crash._ The distinct sound of breaking glass.

Ric was a grown-up. An adult. An authority figure. He was a goddamned upstanding citizen of Mystic Falls and the Gilbert representative on the Founder’s Council. He would not add referee to supernatural hijinks in the boardinghouse study to his resume. He would not.  
 _Crash._ A chair hit the floor. _Thud_ \-- a body fell on top of it -- _crack!_ It sounded like wood splitting. Alaric clicked ‘A greeting from Big Ole, the Viking - National Little-Known …’ in the Yahoo browser. “Ow! Damn it!” A growl. A thud. Another crash. “No! Not the Chippendale gateleg table you cretin.” Growling, the dull sound of a fist hitting flesh, a hiss, another thud, then the crash of bodies rolling into yet another piece of furniture. “I told you _not_ the gateleg table you filthy beast!”

“That is it!” Ric slammed his laptop closed and stood. “I have had it -- the two of you had better settle down or I’ll--”

Damon was suddenly in his face, the long line of his body pressed against Ric. Damon was smirking and leering and, “Or what? You’ll turn us over your knee and spank us until we’re good?”

“Oh, I know! You’ll tie us to the torture chair?” Mason chimed in from behind Ric, close enough that he could feel the heat of his breath on his neck. The two-pronged attack only strengthened Ric’s resolve to resist.

Damon deliberately shifted his hips so that Ric could feel just how horny he was. “What are you gonna do, teacher?” He rolled his hips and despite himself Ric’s body was responding. “Give us detention?” Ric focused on the wall across the room. He would not give in. He was a rock and the commander of his own destiny. He could not be led into temptation, again. Damon’s hands settled on Ric’s hips -- not gripping, just touching. Damon brought his face to the junction of Ric’s jaw and throat and … _breathed._ “Hmm? Tell me.”

Ric closed his eyes and counted to 10. It didn’t work. He picked up his glass and drained it. “I’ll drink all your bourbon and let you figure this out on your own.” He carefully put the crystal tumbler down on the desk. He packed the laptop into its travel case and replaced all of his source materials into his bookbag. He picked up both bags, slung their respective straps across his shoulders and started to leave.

“Come on, Ric, don’t be like that.” Damon grabbed his laptop bag and pulled Ric toward him.

“Yeah, Ric. Give us a break,” Mason added, hooking a finger into one of Ric’s belt loops. “It’s hard being an uncorporealized being forced to watch the world go on around you and be unable to do anything about it.”

Damon relieved Ric of both bags and pressed the re-filled tumbler of bourbon into his hand. “I was lost in the caverns all night, my brother’s locked in a cell, and it’s been a really, really bad week. There’s no harm in unwinding a little.”

“Damon, there is no such as a little anything when it comes to you.” Against all better judgment and the voices in his head screaming that he had _just_ renewed his vow to never do this again, Ric sipped the whiskey.

“That’s what she said,” Mason deadpanned. Ric did not laugh. Mason closed what little distance there was between them. His hands rested on top of Damon’s and then he pulled Ric flush against him. Mason’s erection settled naturally between Ric’s cheeks. Ric drained the glass. Damon helpfully took it from him before he could drop it. Damon closed in on him until he was captured between their bodies. Ric closed his eyes and started counting. _One._ There was no denying that he was hard or that he was physically attracted to both of them. Who wouldn’t be? They were gorgeous -- all sharp angles, contrasting dark against light, with piercing eyes.

 _Fifteen._ His heart was racing in his chest, loudly enough he could hear it in his own ears. It was impossible that neither the vampire or werewolf wouldn’t notice. He’d forgotten the werewolf was a ghost; maybe he wouldn’t hear. How did that even work? Ric attempted to will his pulse to slow, his cock to soften.

 _Twenty-nine._ Mason pressed his teeth against the tender skin at the nape of Ric’s neck. Goose bumps sprung up all over his body and his hair stood on edge. The teeth sank a little deeper, stopping just short of hurting. Then the teeth disappeared only to be replaced by sinfully soft lips and a wickedly clever tongue. Ric shivered.

 _Forty-two-- the meaning of life._ Damon’s hand slipped between their bodies and cupped Ric’s cock. He gave it a gentle squeeze while he started undoing the buttons on Ric’s shirt with his other hand. _Fifty._ A tiny bead of sweat formed at Ric’s temple, Mason caught it with his tongue before it could fall; his lips pressed against the spot then slid down to his jaw. _Sixty-three._ Damon gripped his ass with both hands and started rocking against him. The friction was nearly painful with all the layers of clothes between them. _Sixty-five._ Ric’s head fell back onto Mason’s shoulder. He could feel it the second the last of the alcohol hit his bloodstream. His knees went a little weak and his head spun, the room nearly slid away from him. His inhibitions fell away as quickly as Damon’s pants fell to the floor.

 _Sixty-nine._ Ric opened his eyes to find Damon staring at him intently. “Say no and this ends.”

“Don’t say it, Ric.” Mason breathed the words into his ear. “You want this, we all want it.” Mason’s hands fumbled over Ric’s button for a second before he opened Ric’s pants.

Ric kept his gaze on Damon but Damon wasn’t giving anything away. His expression was as clear and innocent as a child’s so long as you didn’t look into his eyes. They were burning laser bright and filled with desire. Mason shifted his hips again and Ric swallowed. Hard. “I want this.”

Everything blurred for a minute. When the room finally quit spinning Ric found himself divested of his clothes, on his knees behind a naked Mason who was also naked. Ric stared for a moment at Mason's hands -- he was holding his cheeks open for Ric while he swallowed Damon's cock. Ric shook his head in an attempt to clear out the bourbon soaked cobwebs. He looked over at Damon who was holding out a bottle of lube and a condom. Ric took the items from Damon and stared at them. “A condom?”

“I don’t know the STD rules about ghosts of werewolves and humans. Be safe, not sorry.”

Ric popped the cap on the lube and squirted some into his hand. “I can’t imagine they would be any different than vampire-to-human STD rules.” Ric smeared two fingers through the lube and teased the rim of Mason’s hole. Mason groaned and pushed back. “Greedy little bitch, aren’t you?” Ric asked Mason and slapped his hip. “Be still.” Mason stilled.

“Don’t be stupid, Ric, and put on the condom. He’s been with _Katherine_ \-- there’s no telling what sort of debauchery they’ve gotten up to.”

Ric pushed both fingers into Mason and scissored them open. “Damon, everyone in this house has been with Katherine. I think we’ve probably all got the same debauched diseases.” Mason made a noise and Ric tsked at him, scissoring his fingers as wide as they could go. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, it isn’t polite.” Ric tapped Mason’s prostate and added another finger, he fucked his fingers in and out of Mason’s body to the rhythm of Damon’s thrusts.

“Ric, quit trying to commit suicide by disease -- or any other method for that matter -- and start protecting yourself.” Ric watched as Damon pushed all the way into Mason’s throat and circled his hips. Mason groaned again and let go of his ass. He braced himself on Damon’s thighs before he took a face-plant onto the carpet.

“How about you quit killing me and then I’ll worry about my health? I’m sure every time I die I lose whatever diseases I’ve already contracted.”

Damon pulled out and Mason panted heavily for a second before Damon slammed home again. “But you don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.” Ric opened the condom with his teeth and rolled it on. “Satisfied?”

“Not yet.” Damon arched an eyebrow at Ric. “But I will be.”

Ric slid inside Mason in one torturous, inexorable push. He bottomed out, rolled his hips until Mason groaned again, then pulled out just as slow. Ric smiled at Damon across Mason’s body. “Match me?”

Damon’s head jerked up in a nod. Ric gripped Mason’s hips and Damon gripped his head. Ric fucked in slow and rolled his hips in a smooth circle, before he pulled out fast. He kept his pace and by the third thrust in Damon was matching him. Their eye’s met and held; Damon leaned across Mason for a kiss. Ric thought about denying him, but really, there wasn’t a point to denying himself a kiss, not when he was buried balls deep in a human/werewolf/vampire threesome -- that would be petty. And more than a little ridiculous. So he met Damon halfway, open-mouthed, full of sharp little nips and sweet kitten licks.

Damon’s breath hitched and Ric felt his cock swell that much more. Before Ric could break away from the kiss, Damon slid his finger on either side of Ric’s cock and spread Mason open further. Ric’s head fell back at the extra sensation, he quickened his pace, fucking faster and faster. Mason made a terrible choking sound as Damon matched Ric’s pace. “I want to be in there with you, Ric.”

Damon added two more fingers. Mason _clenched_ around them. It was more than Ric could stand, he came with a shout, riding Mason’s ass forward until they both landed in a heap on top of Damon. Mason’s head came up open-mouthed, as he gasped for air, and Damon shot-off onto his face and across his back. Ric felt some of it his hair and hoped he’d remember to get it out before it dried and tried to glue itself permanently to his head. Ric belatedly reached for Mason’s cock, too little too late, as Mason was limp and covered in his own come, not nearly ready to go again.

“Not bad for a first-round, gentlemen.” Damon said between heaving breaths. “I only wish we could take it to the bedroom.”

“Or the shower.” Ric said as he dealt with the condom, tying it off and tossing it toward the fire.

“Maybe you should remodel?” Mason suggested. He was sweaty and practically glowing. Ric imagined they all were. “I mean, it’s nice here and all, but I don’t want to be stuck in your study for eternity, that would really suck.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” Ric closed his eyes and rolled over onto his back. He could practically see the wheels turning in Damon’s head. Right now, all he wanted to think about was how, exactly, double penetration would work and whether or not he needed a prescription for Viagra to keep up with his supernatural partners.

~*~Epilogue~*~

November 2021

“I don’t see why you had to wreck our house for a ghost that only you can see!” Stefan said from outside the closed door.

“Stefan, we’ve been over this hundreds of times. This is actually my house, not yours. If you don’t like it, leave! Go find one of your little blonde girlfriends and fuck off for a decade or two.” The sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the house.

“I don’t think you wrecked anything. The suite looks amazing. Dude, you have no idea how nice it is to be able to take a bath and fix myself something to eat if the mood hits.” Mason’s familiar hands settled onto Damon’s shoulders and massaged. “I won’t even complain that it took you ten years to do it or that you were gone most of that time.”

Damon turned in the circle of Mason’s arms and pressed a quick kiss to his chin. “There were things I had to do.”

“Jewelry you had to commission you mean.”

“Among other things,” Damon agreed. “He’ll be here sometime today.”

“Is she coming with him?”

“She can’t see you, so I doubt it.”

“That would be just like her, to come here knowing she’d make me disappear and ruin all the fun.”

“I know.”

“I see you still think the worst of me. Damon’s influence I’m sure.”

Mason turned around at the voice, Ric and Katherine entered his suite. He hadn’t seen Ric since Katherine turned him and they fucked off to god knows where five years ago. Ric couldn’t see him now since Katherine was there. Unless … hope -- something he hadn’t felt in years swelled inside him. “You can see me?”

Katherine held up a crystal. “So long as this is in your suite of rooms anyone can.”

A slow grin spread across Mason’s face. “Katherine, you do love me.”

“I love all my boys, Mason. Now, why don’t the three of you show me just how much you love me?”

The end.


End file.
